


shed my shining armor

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Melancholy, NHL Trade(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 14:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15951008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Nick has no reason to want to play here more than anywhere else, aside from the fact that he’s started to get to know how things work here, started to like the way he looks in this sweater. It’s an exciting team, but they’ve never really been his, so he shouldn’t really be upset; the only thing that really matters that he’s leaving behind is Nic, and Nic—Well, whatever Nic could have been eventually, it doesn’t matter now.





	shed my shining armor

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> this is 100% unbeta'd sadness

Nick doesn’t really think,  _ this is my last game as a Golden Knight,  _ because there’s a chance it won’t be, and because it doesn’t really matter if it is. It’s a preseason game in a rookie tournament, a chance for the organization to show off the future and a chance for the future to fight for roster spots, and Nick knows that he’s only playing tonight because someone wants to see him at center—he doesn’t know who—but he feels off and jittery and not at all prepared and off-kilter. He’s playing center, which isn’t where he thought he’d play, and he’s playing with eyes on him to determine which team will want him more— and, like, he knows he’s probably not the biggest piece in whatever trade is about to go down, but still, he didn’t think his name would be in the mix. Glasser’s, maybe, but not his. 

But he’s here, and he’s playing at center, and he’s not sure who wants him at center, if he could get away with playing poorly so he could try and stay here. 

Which is dumb. He’s never even really played in Vegas, never been in the city for more than a few weeks at a time. He has no reason to want to play here more than anywhere else, aside from the fact that he’s started to get to know how things work here, started to like the way he looks in this sweater; i t’s an exciting team, but they’ve never really been his, so he shouldn’t really be upset. The only thing that really matters that he’s leaving behind is Nic, and Nic— 

Well, whatever Nic could have been eventually, it doesn’t matter, because Nick’s probably going back to the O regardless of where he gets traded, and Nic is officially aged out and heading to the Minors. Wherever he ends up, he’s probably not gonna be any farther from Nic, at least for the next year. 

It’s not like they’re even that close. They’ve only known each other for a year; it’s stupid to want to spend a career playing with someone you’ve only known for a year, probably. 

......

Everyone knows something’s up, but Nic’s the only one who he’s actually talked to about it; there’s a chance Nick is getting traded, they still wanted him to play in the game tonight, and he should keep his cell phone on him and maybe try to ‘not get too settled’ in his hotel room, which is code for  _ pack up.  _

So he’s packing up. 

Or, rather, he’s pacing back and forth with an open suitcase on the bed, but that’s semantics. Nic is with him,  sitting on the other bed, but he hasn’t said a word in the ten minutes they’ve been here. 

“This should be a good thing,” Nick says. “Like, teams want me. That’s cool.” 

“I guess,” Nic says. 

“I just really don’t wanna be a Sen,” Nick says. “They didn’t trade for Karlsson at the deadline, right? They’re not gonna try and get him now.” 

“Uh,” Nic says. “I’m not sure. Probably not?” 

Nick groans. “I need someone who follows trade rumors and shit. Where else could it be?” 

“You’ll know when they call you,” Nic says. “Just— try not to think about it.” 

“How?” Nick says, a little frantic and more openly distressed than he usually likes to be, but then he turns around and sees Nic sitting on the edge of the bed, and he pauses. 

Nic’s eyes are weirdly shiny, not quite like he’s on the verge of tears, but like he’s trying very hard to stay calm; his hands are shaking, a little, and he looks fucking exhausted and terrified, like he hasn’t slept in days. Nick wonders if he’s looked like this all day, terrified just under the surface of his skin and trying not to let it out, and if he’s just been too caught up in this to notice. 

“I’m sorry,” Nick says. “I don’t want to stress you out.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s— a lot, I know.” 

“I just—” 

“I get it,” Nic says, his voice soft. “Just— here.” 

He stands up, walks the few feet to close the distance between the two of them, and Nick’s sort of frozen in place as it happens, almost in slow motion. 

Nic puts his hands on his shoulders first, runs them down his arms, looks down at the ground as he says, “You’ll be okay.” 

“I know,” Nick says, and for the first time all day, he’s not thinking about the trade, or anything besides the way Nic’s hands are warm in the over-air conditioned room. “I just don’t want to go.” 

“We don’t want you to go,” Nic says. 

“Guess that’s the business,” Nick says, and he’s staring at Nic’s face, wishes he’d look up, meet Nick’s eye, clue him in to what’s happening right now— 

But before any of that can happen, his phone rings. 

When Nick goes to dig it out of his pocket, Nic starts to back away, but Nick doesn’t want to stop touching him, so he grabs his hand, lets their fingers dangle loosely together as he swipes to answer. 

“Hello?” he says. 

“Hi, Nick,” his agent says on the other end, and Nick can’t look at Nic while this is happening, so he turns around, but doesn’t let go of his hand. It’s weird, maybe, but he doesn’t fucking care— he can’t do this alone, and Nic doesn’t want him to do this alone, apparently, so there’s no point in pretending he doesn’t need this. 

When his agent tells him he’s been traded, he takes a small step back, pressing his back against Nic’s torso, and Nic lets him, puts one hand on Nick’s shoulder while the other rubs up and down Nick’s arm, and then his side; Nick listens to his agent talk, and lets himself move dangerously close to Nic, because it doesn’t fucking matter anymore, not when he’s about to be far away for a long time.

All he says on the call is “Hm” and “Alright” and one “Thank you very much” before he hangs up. He holds his phone close to his chest, closes his eyes, and tilts his head back to rest on Nic’s chest. 

He feels the way Nic’s inhales and exhales turn careful, measured, and he likes the idea that he’s making his breath change pace and his chest move differently; it’s a small silver lining, maybe. 

Finally, he says, “Montreal.”  

“Oh,” Nic says. 

“Yeah,” Nick says, lifting his head off of Nic’s chest and turning to face him, not putting any space between them. They’re toe to toe, and he has to tilt his head back at an even more outrageous angle than usual to see Nic’s face, and when he does, he can’t find anything surprising in his expression, just a bit of uncertainty and a lot of sadness. 

Nick doesn’t want to move. He’s warm and still and eerily calm, for the first time all day; Twitter’s probably going crazy, and there’s a good chance his parents are on their way over here right now, but the outside world can wait for a second while Nick drags out this goodbye, he thinks. Once he moves, he’s not gonna have time to rest for a while, so he’s gonna linger where his feet are planted for a moment. He’s earned this, probably. 

“So,” Nic says, but Nick shakes his head, already leaning in before the word is out of Nic’s mouth. He puts a hand in his hair to tug him down to meet him, and Nic goes easily, kissing back as soon as he’s kissed, putting his hands on Nick’s hips and squeezing once before wrapping them around him and holding him close. 

The kiss ends too soon, mostly because Nick would prefer that it go on forever, but as far as first kisses go, he thinks it’s a pretty good one. 

He doesn’t want to think about whether it’s their last one. 

“You should go,” Nick says, smiling a little, because even though he kind of wants to cry, he did just get kissed, and that always makes him a little giddy. 

“Probably,” Nic says, but he cups Nick’s face once with his hand before he steps away. Nick’s eyelids flutter shut, because he thinks Nic might kiss him again, but he’s a little relieved when he doesn’t, because he doesn’t think he would be able to stop, this time. 

They don’t say anything else, just share one last look before Nic walks out of the room, and once the door closes, Nick takes a deep breath in, touches his still-tingling lips, and exhales as slowly as he can, wondering how many breaths he’s taken since he kissed Nic, if any of the air in his lungs came from Nic’s mouth. 

Then, he puts all thoughts of Vegas and Montreal and teammates and trades out of his mind, sets his phone gingerly on the bed, and starts to pack, trying not to think about the bits of glitter trapped in the fabric of his Under Armour. 

**Author's Note:**

> in case you didn't hear: nick suzuki, along with tomas tatar and a 2019 2nd round pick, got traded to the habs, in exchange for max pacioretty. apparently that's why he was playing at center tonight; i thought something might be up when he was taking over the vgk insta story and said he was told he didn't have to skate at morning skate. 
> 
> i am.......... sad about this.


End file.
